


Burning Love

by goodbye_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dick Roman is a huge flaccid penis, Disabled Character, Fluff, Minor Violence, Mpreg, Multi, Past Miscarriage, There is some angst but it's mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbye_dean/pseuds/goodbye_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak hates his life. His job is tedious, his fiancé is a dick, and he's tired of his family using him like a puppet. But things start to look up after he gets trapped in an elevator with Dean Winchester, a disabled firefighter who's just trying to come to terms with his new lot in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ups and Downs

Castiel closed the heavy office door after he entered the room. His hands were vibrating with nervous energy, but there was nothing left to hold him back. He’d spent too many sleepless nights praying for his life to fall perfectly into place, but change never came in the darkness. Too many disappointed mornings led to equally disappointing days and before he could stop it, he’d become everything he never wanted to be. But this was the day everything would change, starting with him quitting his job. Turning around smoothly, Castiel faced his boss, Zachariah Fuller. He steadied his hands at his sides and took a deep breath. This was his new beginning.  


“Mr. Fuller, I-,”  


“You’re fired, Castiel.”

*

“Which floor is it?” Dean pressed the up button in between the large elevator doors. Chuck scoffed into the phone. Dean Winchester was usually good about remembering things the first time around, unless it was something he didn’t want to do. Since this had been the fourth time he’d asked this question, it was clear this was definitely something he didn’t want to do.  


“Fourteenth. Listen, try to talk to her assistant first. Maybe you’ll get lucky and she gave the bottle to him to give to you.”  


“Is she really that bad?” The elevator to Dean’s left opened and people trying to get home before the storm filed out in an orderly fashion.  


“Dean, Becky Rosen is the devil.” When the elevator was finally clear, Dean walked in slowly, already regretting his decision to leave his cane at home. The rain had made every step he took to get there a dangerous one, but now indoors his left hip and knee felt uncharacteristically tight. “Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, but she’s no angel. She’s done just about everything in her power to make my life Hell.”  


“Get trapped in a burning building with a piece of ceiling pinning you down and then we can have a serious conversation about Hell,” Dean sighed before hanging up and stabbing the circular ‘14’ button with the corner of his phone.

*

It took Castiel a moment to realize that he shouldn’t be upset with his sudden sacking. In fact, it was better this way. The tight muscles in his back loosened and the lengthy speech he had prepared in his head all but vanished. Though he’d been ready to stand up for himself and quit, getting fired did seem more efficient.  


“On what grounds might I ask?”  


“Your work has been slipping for months and I can no longer keep you here, even as a favor to your father.” Castiel no longer had a father, at least not a biological one. The man that Zachariah referred to was his step father, the rich and callous man that married Castiel’s mother almost immediately after his father's heart monitor flatlined. “You’re just not cut out for PR.”  


Castiel couldn’t help but smile lightly and look down at his black polished shoes. He never wanted to work in public relations or wear suits every day or be belittled by aging fat men who didn’t recognize his lack of motivation as a cry for help. His entire life, Castiel had been pushed into doing things and made malleable by those who thought they knew what was best for him. Only now did he know better. Castiel was liberating himself.  


“You’ll be receiving a small severance package, of course. And I personally suggest you pursue another profession.” He could return to his books, or he could go to culinary school, or perhaps he could try- “Or if that doesn’t pan out, I’m sure you’ll make a fine trophy husband.”

*

The elevator opened to the seemingly empty fourteenth floor. Dean finally pocketed his phone and walked through the doors. His face tightened as the unavoidable pain in his left hip returned. He rubbed at the bone, trying to relieve the hitch in his step that would probably never go away.  


“Can I help you?” A man sitting behind a desk to Dean’s right asked. In trying to walk smoothly, Dean had missed him completely. When walking was Dean’s main focus, he could shut out pretty much anything; that’s how he’d already progressed so far in his physical therapy.  


“Yeah, I’m Dean Winchester. I’m supposed to pick up something for Chuck Shurley.” The man smiled at him and took off his rectangular glasses.  


“You’re the Dean from his column and blog, right?” Dean nodded slowly. He still wasn’t used to getting recognized. On the street it never happened, but when stepping into the writing world, he might as well have had a neon sign over his head flashing, ‘I’ve let my best friend publish my failures!’  


“Well of course he is!” Dean glanced over his shoulder, getting a look at the woman Chuck so feared and loathed. “Doesn’t he look like a hero to you?”

*

When Castiel returned to his desk, his former desk anyway, most everyone had already left. Those that remain were pulling on their coats and grabbing their umbrellas from underneath their desks. All week the local news had been trying to down play this storm, but now that it finally hit, it was not to be underestimated. But while everyone else on the floor had their minds on the heavy rain and thunder cracking between the tall buildings in the city, Castiel found himself stuck on what Zachariah had said. _Trophy husband?_ Did that stuffy traditionalist honestly think that’s all he was cut out for? And what about his family? They were the ones who’d pressured him into this job, into staying with his fiancé long after any true feelings he'd had for him melted away. Did they think he was unworthy of better?  


With newfound frustration, Castiel crammed what personal things were at his desk into his messenger bag. He even took the stapler, satisfied by the fact that it cracked the old picture of him and Richard when he threw it in.  


It wasn’t long before the desk was free of everything that made it his. With a huff, he pulled on his tan trench coat, shuttering involuntarily as a particularly loud roll of thunder sounded off. Outside, sheets of rain blurred everything. They’d all underestimated the storm. It had something to prove now.  


He grabbed his bag and made for the elevators, kicking over a sizable potted plant along the way without any remorse. Okay, a little remorse, but not enough for him to look back as he entered the empty elevator on the twentieth floor.

*

“I’m not a hero, ma’am. Just a regular guy,” Dean said, giving her a closed lipped smile and a curt nod. Hero. Never in his life had that word been so heavy, weighed down by everyone’s expectations.  


“You’re just being modest.” Becky Rosen waved for him to follow her, the smile on her face unnaturally wide. She led him to her office, which was brightly painted in clashing colors. “So, you’re here for the invitation, I assume?”  


“That’s correct.”  


“Good. Please let Chuck know that not all of my clients get invited to huge galas and that I expect him to be there, ready to party and schmooze his scruffy little heart out.” She walked behind her desk and picked up a bottle of aged scotch, an envelope attached to it. “The invitation is for two, so I hope you’ll be making an appearance as well.”  


Dean’s eyes widened, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. The last thing he wanted to do was dress up like he was going to prom, just so he could stand around and watch rich people blow smoke up each other’s asses.  


“I couldn’t possibly.”  


“Nonsense! You’re the reason his writing has become so successful. Think about it, won’t you?” Dean was beginning to see why Chuck didn’t care for her so much. It wasn’t that she was doing anything wrong or was outwardly malicious; it was just that her enthusiasm practically had a life of its own and it was grating. Dean smiled as he accepted the bottle.  


“Okay, I’ll consider it.” He felt a little bad about lying. She seemed like an okay person, although definitely an acquired taste. And fancy parties were great, but only if you were getting married or if you were a movie star. Not if you were a cripple from Kansas with a low tolerance for assholes.  


As Becky led him back toward the elevators, thunder clapped outside again.  


“So much for the light drizzle they said we’d be getting, huh?” Becky’s assistant said with a laugh.  


“Oh I just love it. After a big rain like this, everything is so fresh and new. It’s wonderful,” Becky laughed. She shook Dean’s hand in goodbye and then practically skipped all the way back to her office. Dean rolled his eyes and hit the down button. Nowadays, rain made his leg cramp like a son of a bitch. As for everything being ‘fresh and new,’ that was a crock of shit. Fresh and new was a hard concept to pull off if everything smelt like wet dog after a big rain. Literally everything.  


The elevator doors opened and Dean stepped in. Again he began to rub his hip, preparing himself for the slippery walk home. Or maybe he should just bite the bullet and get a cab, he thought, even if his apartment was only a few blocks away.  


“Crazy weather, right?” Dean looked up, realizing for the first time that he wasn’t alone in the elevator. The man was wearing a tan trench coat and a tired but polite expression. Dean smiled lightly and nodded.  


“Never trust the weather man, right?” The elevator closed and began its slow journey to the lobby. Both men faced the doors, falling into silence. That was until the lights went out and the elevator lurched down a few more feet before screeching to a stop. Lights in the floor came on, casting an eerily blue glow in the small square room.  


Dean had stumbled backwards, unable to keep his balance. Thankfully, there had been a steady bar against the back wall. He straightened himself up, looking over at the other man, whose eyes were wide with panic.  


“What happened?” The man asked, his chest rising and falling quickly.  


“I think the power went out.”


	2. Strangerhood

Castiel let his messenger bag slide off his shoulder as he leaned back against the nearest wall. The sudden drop made his heart take on a frantic tempo and he couldn’t stand upright without some support. It was either lean against something or let his stomach turn inside out. 

"You okay?" The other man asked, eyebrows drawn close in concern. 

"Just startled, I guess," Castiel muttered before letting his eyes flutter shut. Beyond his closed eyelids he could see the faint blue from the emergency lights in the floor. The lights cast an eerie glow over everything and yet it was comforting, even with his eyes closed. 

"Don't sweat it man. We’re gonna be fine." Castiel opened his eyes and watched as the man put his unopened bottle of liquor down and made for one of the elevator control panels. He limped as he took small controlled steps, a determined look on his face. When he reached the panel he pressed the open door button with the heel of his hand. Instead of the door opening, like both men expected it to, the metal made no attempt to separate. Castiel let out a shaky breath. 

“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of,” The man grumbled, jabbing at the button several more times with the same result. 

“What’re we going to do?” Castiel pushed himself away from the wall, finally standing upright despite his wobbly knees. 

The man picked up the emergency phone. After a moment, he turned to Castiel with pursed lips. 

“No dial tone. Figures that the backup generator would have enough juice for the floor lights, but not enough to power the phone or open the damn door.” He slammed the phone back onto its receiver. “We could be here for a while.” 

“Can’t we call 911?” 

“Let’s give it a bit. We don’t know how bad the power outage is. They’ll probably have bigger things to worry about than two guys stuck in a box. We’re low priority.” 

Feeling dejected, Castiel sank to the ground and crossed his legs, his wide hands falling to rest in his lap. Considering that he’d just been fired, this had been the best day Castiel had had in a long while. He’d woken up with conviction, determined that on this rainy Thursday, he was going to get everything right. And despite being trapped in an elevator, his spirits hadn’t been dampened yet, even with Zachariah’s words still milling around in the back of his head. Carefully, the other man lowered himself down as well, letting out a groan as he stretched his left leg out. His straight teeth bit his bottom lip hard as he rubbed at his left hip vigorously, like he was trying to loosen a knot. After a moment he froze, realizing Castiel was watching him. 

“You sure you’re alright? You look a little pasty.” Castiel gulped and nodded. His heart was still pounding wildly. In an attempt to settle it, he took a deep breath and rested a hand over it. Even underneath several layers of clothing, it felt untamable. 

“I’m fine.” Castiel lifted his eyes to meet the man’s. He couldn’t tell what color they were in the blue emergency lights, but his eyelashes were long and thick, casting a very slight shadow over his eyelids. “What about you?” Castiel nodded toward the man’s hand working at his hip bone. 

“This? It’s an older injury. Nothing to worry about.” He quickened his kneading for a few seconds and then stopped, giving up with a sigh. “I’m Dean.” 

Castiel waited a beat before supplying his name in a low voice, “Castiel.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, the same side of his mouth quirking up. 

“Gesundheit!” 

“But I didn’t sneeze.” Dean laughed unexpectedly, catching Castiel off guard. It had a higher pitch than his speaking voice, but it was still a warm and rich sound. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. That’s just one hell of a name.” It wasn’t the first time someone had commented on the strangeness of his name. Probably wouldn’t be the last time either. 

“It’s alright. I’ve been told it suits me, whatever that means.” 

“Well it’s unique, that’s for sure. Are you a unique person?” Dean asked casually. It was a loaded question though, wasn’t it? Castiel didn’t know if he was unique or if his definition of the word aligned with Dean’s. If he said he was unique, would that make him vain for thinking himself special? And to say he wasn’t, wouldn’t that make him seem uninteresting? Besides, this wasn’t the Castiel he wanted to be. He might not be unique now, but who’s to say that six months from now he wouldn’t be able to live up to a word as intimidating as that? 

“I don’t know what kind of person I am yet.” 

*

It was a strange response, but Dean didn’t challenge it. He was above annoying the person he was going to be trapped with for the unforeseeable future. 

Dean stretched his arms above his head, amazed but not thrilled by how tense his back was. Without much finesse, he took off his jacket, which was still damp from the walk to the building. Out of curiosity, he lifted it up to his nose and pulled back in disgust. Wet dog, naturally. He balled it up and put it behind him to cushion his head as he sat back against the wall. 

“Take off your coat. Stay a while.” Dean smiled at Castiel, wondering when he’d last seen a person wearing a trench coat who wasn’t completely naked underneath it. Either it was a long time ago or completely unprecedented because nothing came to mind. Castiel nodded once and then grabbed the lapels of his coat, hesitating for a moment before leaning forward and letting it slide off his slender shoulders and down his arms. Instead of balling it up as Dean had done with his, Castiel folded his trench coat neatly and rested it over his messenger bag. He took the time to fold his coat, yet the rest of his clothes seemed rumpled and ill-fitting. “You work in the building?” 

“I do. Or I did,” Castiel corrected himself quickly. A small smile played on his dry lips. “I actually got fired today.” 

“Wow. I’m sorry to hear that,” Dean said, genuinely sorry. Getting fired and stuck in an elevator on the same day didn’t seem like a fun ordeal. 

“Please don’t apologize.” Castiel lifted a hand, stopping Dean. “As crazy as it sounds, I actually wanted to get fired.” He had long fingers and wide palms. They were the kind of hands that were good for making things and terrible for menial office work. 

“Well, then congratulations,” Dean amended, watching as Castiel’s hand fell back to his lap. In a building like this and a suit like that, Dean was sure Castiel had worked at a desk and answered to bosses who probably treated him like shit. Of course he was happy to be fired. 

“Do you work in the building?” 

“Oh no. I’m here because my best friend’s a coward and he can’t deal with his own literary agent.” Dean leaned across the floor, hissing as he put most of his weight on his left hip. The bottle of scotch was just out of reach, so he sat upright again and scooted over an inch, finally close enough to stretch out and grab it. Reading over the labels, Dean grinned to himself, deciding to keep the bottle. He didn’t know how long he was going to be stuck there and maybe drinking it would help Chuck become more tolerant of Becky. 

“Becky Rosen?” Castiel asked. Dean glanced up. 

“Do you know her?” 

“Not personally, but she has a reputation in the building for being quite eccentric.” 

“Well apparently ‘eccentric’ is enough to send Chuck into hiding with his tail tucked between his legs.” The fancy schmancy party invitation was sealed in an embossed black envelope with Chuck’s name written across the front in white ink. Dean plucked it off the bottle and shoved it carelessly into his back pocket. “Feel like celebrating your new freedom?” Chuck didn’t like scotch anyway, or at least that’s what Dean told himself to feel less guilty as he unscrewed the metal top. 

“Oh, I’m not a big drinker,” Castiel shook his head, eyeing the bottle nervously. Dean shrugged, brought it to his lips and took a healthy swig. It was the kind of Scotch whisky Dean loved: spicy and salty to the point where it almost tasted sour. A shiver ran down his spine as the liquor ran down his throat. For a moment he sat there looking up at the ceiling, waiting for it to finally hit his stomach. When it did, he met Castiel’s eyes again. 

“So, have we reached the point where we feel obligated to share our life stories?” Castiel’s head slowly tilted to the left, his eyes narrowing. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know, since we have nothing else to talk about, we feel pressured into talking about ourselves. Share things with each other that we wouldn’t share with those closest to us, because let’s face it; we’ll probably never see each other again. I mean, _we’re_ here. Why not use this experience like a free therapy session?” 

“I’m a complete stranger and you’re saying you want to hear my problems?” Castiel’s eyebrows were raised, though they were not close to reaching his dark and untidy hairline. 

“And vice versa, of course. I’m not usually big on the whole expressing my feelings thing, but I’ve had some life-altering things happen to me recently that made me realize that life’s too short to keep shit bottled in. It’s either that or we can sit here in silence.” 

Castiel rubbed his hands together in contemplation for several seconds before relaxing his shoulders and loosening his dark blue tie. 

“Fine,” He exhaled heavily, reaching out for the bottle. 

“Awesome!” Dean graciously thrust the scotch toward him, their fingers brushing as the bottle exchanged hands. Castiel stared at the bottle intently for a beat before taking a drink bigger than Dean’s. “But you’re going first, seeing as you’re happy about getting fired.” Upon hearing that, Castiel took another big gulp before giving the bottle back. 

“Okay. I hated my job.” The tension in Castiel’s body started melting away almost instantly. “When I woke up this morning, I decided I was going to quit. It just so happens that my boss beat me to it.” 

“What line of work?” Dean asked before taking a smaller sip. 

“Public relations. Not a good line of work for someone with poor people skills.” Dean smirked and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. You seem alright to me, Cas. Mind if I call you Cas?” 

*

His stomach was warmed by the scotch and he liked the taste it left on his tongue, even though he usually steered clear of heavier drinks. And he could already feel his inhibitions lowering. Or maybe it was just the notion of talking to Dean while they were holed up together. Dean had said it himself; they’d probably never see each other again, so why not bear their souls to a complete stranger? Castiel offered Dean a faint smile. An attractive, yet complete stranger and here Castiel was, surprisingly willing to let Dean cross a line that only the closest in Castiel’s life had crossed before: giving him a nickname. _Well, if we’re never going to see each other again…_

“Castiel is a bit of a mouthful.” When Dean smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

“A mouthful, but unique,” Dean corrected. 

The bottle of scotch was passed between the two men as they talked. First they discussed Castiel’s former job and why he hated it so much. He had no trouble telling Dean about his step father practically forcing him into taking the job two years before, which led to them talking about their families. Castiel started off with his, conveniently not mentioning his fiancé Richard. Richard wasn’t his family, at least not anymore. On the list of things Castiel wanted to change about his life, Richard Roman would be next to go. 

He did mind however telling Dean about his sister Anna and her husband, pulling out his wallet and proudly showing off a picture of his two redheaded nephews. Folded up neatly in the back of his wallet was a postcard from his older brother Gabriel; he showed Dean that too. He even managed to squeeze in a quick description of his cousin Balthazar before stopping and blushing at the way Dean’s eyes zeroed in on him. Castiel took off his suit jacket, suddenly feeling a little warm. 

“Why’d you stop?” 

“Because I want to know what your family is like,” Castiel flipped the subject, taking a bit of the heat off him. 

“They’re great. My younger brother Sam just got engaged to his girlfriend, actually. Dad’s a firefighter, Mom’s a high school teacher and they’re still crazy about each other after all this time. There’s not much more to tell.” Dean jumped into regaling some of his fondest family memories, talking emphatically with his hands and his eyes bright with love. 

From there the conversation bounced everywhere. They talked about what they studied in college (Castiel double majored in English and Philosophy and while Dean had gone to college for Engineering, he gave it up in favor of following in his father’s footsteps), where they grew up, and what kind of music they liked. They talked about books, movies, and food, their stomachs rumbling loudly during that subject. 

Castiel found it odd how easily he was able to open up to the man. He wasn’t exactly sociable, yet speaking with Dean felt so natural and entertaining. He felt so lost in their manufactured peace that he forgot all about calling for help. But as luck would have it, they wouldn’t need to call. Before either of them realized it the bottle of scotch was finished off and they’d been sitting across from each other, laughing, smiling, and shedding their strangerhood for almost four hours. 

The power returned without preamble, startling the men. Dean had been in the middle of telling Castiel how he’d nearly lost an eye once in a high stakes game of darts with his younger brother Sam when the elevator whirled back to life. Their smiles fell from their faces as they looked at each other, both crestfallen. The power was back. They were en route to the lobby. The magic was already beginning to flake away. 

“It’s over,” Castiel whispered, doing nothing to hide his displeasure. 

“Time flies, right?” Dean sighed as he reached behind his head for his jacket. With trembling hands, Castiel did the same. By the time they finished putting on their protective outer layers, the elevator dinged and the door opened to the lobby. A woman dressed partially in fire rescue gear peered down at them, as they were both still seated on the floor. 

“Dean?” The woman asked with a laugh. He looked up and smiled at her. Castiel noted that his eyes were green and his cheeks and nose were lightly freckled. If he was never going to see Dean again, he wanted to remember as much as he could. 

“Hey, Jo. Fancy seeing you here.” He chuckled, holding a hand out to her to be helped up. Jo declined, lifting both of her hands in a type of surrender. 

“Sorry, hoss. You know I can’t do any heavy lifting.” Castiel leapt up, barely keeping balanced, but offered his hands to help Dean up. Dean eyed Castiel’s smooth palms and smiled before taking them into his own rough hands. Castiel tugged and Dean pushed until he was on his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his hip. “Where’s your cane, man?” 

“I left the damn thing at home,” Dean grumbled, returning to the incessant rubbing he’d left behind hours ago. 

“You not supposed to be walking without it, Dean!” She reached forward and pulled his hand away from his hip. “That too. They’ve told you about the rubbing. It’s not gonna make the pain go away.” Castiel looked between the two of them. Dean said he was a firefighter on injury leave, so he must’ve worked with Jo. 

“Well, tomorrow at physical therapy you can tell the doctors how naughty I’ve been.” She rolled her eyes and turned to Castiel. 

“Sir, are you alright?” She asked, suddenly losing her informal tone. 

“His name is Cas,” Dean interjected. Castiel blushed at how the nickname sounded jumping easily from Dean’s lips, but no one seemed to notice. Jo nodded and gave him a professional once over with her eyes, just checking for blood or obvious loss of limbs. He couldn’t help but look down as well, before looking up. 

“I’m alive.” 

“Why’re you even on duty, Jo? I thought you had another few weeks before they could clear you.” She shrugged. 

“Half the city is out of power and all departments are shorthanded. I’m helping out where I can, which unfortunately means elevator evacuation duty.” Castiel bent over and picked up his messenger bag, which felt heavier than it had earlier, loaded with things from his old desk. He grabbed the empty bottle as well, juggling it a bit as it almost fell out of his hands. Jo caught sight of it and then looked at Dean, whose cheeks were flushed in a rosy hue. “Are you drunk?” 

“Don’t look at me like that. He is too.” She just shook her head and stepped out of the elevator, watching as they followed her. Castiel’s steps felt heavy and languid from the alcohol, but by the way Dean hobbled into the lobby, it was obvious he was stiff and in pain. 

“Will you be okay getting home?” Jo asked worriedly. 

“Yes, mother hen. I’ll see you at PT tomorrow.” 

She sighed, going to stand next to a paramedic who was checking people in one of the other elevators, which had apparently been stuck as well. 

“Alright. Please be careful. And I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, Cas. I know Dean can be a pill.” The last part she addressed to Castiel, with a stealthy wink. 

The people who were trapped in the other elevators all looked exhausted and put out. By the way they all separated and ignored one another before venturing out into the now darkened world outside, it was easy to see they hadn’t built up the same sort of camaraderie Castiel and Dean had. Which didn’t matter much now, since they’d probably never see each other again. 

Dean pulled his shoulders back, looking at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. 

“Don’t they look miserable?” Dean asked, inclining his head toward all the other people who’d been stuck. They just wanted to get home, get on with their lives, and forget about the four hours they had to waste in a tiny room with people they didn’t care about. Yet Castiel didn’t want it to end. He wanted Dean to finish his story about his brother and the game of darts. He wanted to hear a hundred more of Dean’s stories. He didn’t want this to be the last time he’d ever see Dean. 

“It’s because they didn’t have any scotch,” Castiel tacked a forced laugh on to the end, not caring about how fake it sounded. They both headed toward the exit. Dean clenched his hands into fist and shoved them deep in his jacket pockets, obviously trying his hardest to make his limp look less severe. 

They both peered out at the city through the large floor to ceiling windows. The city was soaked as the rain continued to pummel anything and everything. 

*

The rain was wiping everything clean, making it fresh and new. It stripped away the old layers of dirt and grime. Dean turned to Cas, watching as he looked out the window with childlike wonder, his large blue eyes trying to take it all in. When Cas realized Dean was watching him, he turned and smiled politely, holding out a hand. 

“It was a pleasure talking to you, Dean.” Dean nodded and took his hand, holding it tightly. If only he could admit just how pleasurable it was. 

“And I you.” Neither of them let go. They just stared at each other, holding each other’s hands firmly. Dean cracked first, letting go of Cas’ hand and clearing his throat loudly, preparing to take a leap of faith. 

“Hey, I know we said we’d probably never see each other again after all this, but I really enjoyed talking to you.” He’d been thinking it for hours now. There was something about the shy man, with his carefully chosen words and his attentive eyes. Maybe it was the scotch or the four hours alone with him, but Dean couldn’t stand there not being more. He wasn’t ready for an ending. “Do you have any plans tonight?” 

Cas’ gaze drifted down to his polished shoes and immediately Dean took it as a sign of rejection, at least until Cas spoke up. 

“I have nowhere I need to be.” For the first time in several months, Dean smiled so wide his cheeks began to sting. And although he’d never admit it out loud, he was really fucking glad his best friend was a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! So this took longer to write than I expected. That being said, I'm going to aim for an update AT LEAST once a week. If that doesn't happen, then I'm sorry. I'm only human. Still unbeta'd, so if there are any mistakes, please feel free to point them out and I shall correct them. Cool beans? Cool beans. Thanks so much for your lovely comments and your kudos. As tough as it was to crank this out, you guys were the fire under my butt. And I mean that in a non-weird way. Unless you’re into it…


	3. Hat Trick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I’ll keep this brief so you can start reading, but it’s been a ridiculous amount of time since I updated last. There is a very serious illness in my immediate family and I’ve been very emotionally distraught for a very long time. Life has not been kind to me lately, but I can say this: I have thought about this story every single day since I first published it. Every. Single. Day. I’ve mapped the entire thing out. I promise it won’t me take six months to update again, though I cannot guarantee a posting schedule. I’m not going anywhere. So thank you for sticking around if you have.

They braced themselves as they ventured out of the building and into the rain. 

“Wanna wait for a cab or walk? My place isn’t that far,” Dean asked, rain already pelting them. Just seconds before, Dean proposed going to his apartment. With an undetermined portion of the city still out of power, it just made sense. He had food in the pantry, candles made by Sam’s fiancée in the hall closet, dry clothes for them to change into, and more alcohol should they desire it. Cas didn’t even flinch at the idea. Maybe the rain and power outage made it sound less forward. Not that Dean intended for it to sound so forward to begin with. Or that he’d object to a little forward motion, should that be the case. 

“I don’t think we’ll be lucky enough to get a cab,” Cas answered, looking from the clogged traffic on the street straight to Dean’s hip. Dean nodded as he turned up the collar of his jacket, knowing that his new friend was probably right. The daylight had vanished and the only illumination left in the city was the lights of the cars coming and going on the slick and puddled street. Despite the weather and loss of electricity, too many people were still bustling to get somewhere. There was always somewhere for them to go, always something for them to do. Dean admired and pitied those people in equal parts. Before his accident, he was in the grind right alongside them, moving too fast to be slowed down naturally. Now he wasn’t sure if he could ever go back to that or if he’d really want to. 

“Well then I hope you don’t mind getting a little wet,” he smirked, eyeing Cas up and down swiftly. Just because he didn’t plan on anything actually happening once they got back to the apartment didn’t mean he would cease the flirting they’d established during the last hour of their elevator ride. Besides, it was in Dean’s nature and the dark haired man was the most attractive person Dean had encountered in months. Sure, there were a few hot nurses and doctors at the hospital when he was recovering. Even his physical therapist Michael was on the good side of studly, with the right amount of muscles yet knowledgeable enough to be a good conversationalist. But Castiel was so completely different from what Dean usually swooned over. He’d always been the one-night-of-wild-and-forgettable-fun kind of guy, which made him gravitate toward other people who preferred the same outcome. Cas smiled coyly and turned away, his cheeks changing color. Noticing the change, Dean decided to ease off. Cas didn’t seem like the kind of guy who got off on aggressive flirting and the sweet nothings of one crazy night. He didn’t deserve Dean’s usual heavy-handed approach. That wasn’t really Dean’s style anyway. It belonged to the Old Dean, who got left behind in a burning building a few months back. 

Most of the walk was made in amicable silence, their feet taking careful steps on the slippery pavement. Occasionally they’d turn to each other and chuckle, though nothing in particular was amusing. Dean liked how Castiel’s thick hair fell into his eyes as the water weighed the black mop down. It did wonders for his already striking blue irises. 

“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you have very nice eyes,” Dean complimented him, this time trying to sound as genuine as he felt. Cas took a moment before answering, thinking. 

“Not often, actually. People don’t usually go out of their way to comment on my eyes.” 

“Well they should,” Dean said softly. He balled his hands into tighter fists as he struggled to stay upright with each step. 

*

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered, though he wasn’t sure if Dean had heard him. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t often get compliments on his eyes. He used to, when he was younger, but too often lately he’d keep his eyes locked on the ground, never looking up long enough for someone to notice he was standing there, let alone what his eyes looked like. 

Dean’s apartment building was made of old redbrick. It looked sturdy and though it was weathered a bit on the outside and the sidewalk and stoop steps leading to the door had long spider-like cracks in them, it seemed like a very welcoming place to live. 

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Dean commented as he fished for his keys in his jeans and hobbled his way to the door, knowing it’d be useless to try the security pad. Castiel looked up the front of the building and smiled to himself. He didn’t mind living in the city as much as he thought he would, but he’d always hated his and Richard’s apartment. It was too modern, with its full glass walls in the kitchen and living room and all the stainless steel fixtures and furnishes. Too cold and uninviting for Castiel, who’d grown up trying to escape an environment just like it. But a building like this just screamed warmth, the redbrick walls showing how sturdy of a place it was. Build your life here, we can support it, the walls said as Dean finally unlocked the door. 

They rushed into the lightless lobby, letting out a shared sigh of relief as they escaped from the persistent rain. 

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath as he angrily shoved his keys into his jacket pocket. 

“What?” 

“We can’t use the elevator,” Dean ran his hands through his wet hair and sighed, “We’ll have to take the damn stairs.” 

“What floor do you live on?” Dean groaned as he opened the heavy door that led to a dark stairwell, indicating for Castiel to go ahead of him. 

“The 12th, unfortunately." He pulled out his cellphone and illuminated the dark steps ahead of them, shaking his head. Dean took a moment to prepare before grabbing onto the railing and dragging himself up the first couple of steps. Castiel stayed behind, watching with concern. After a few more steps, Dean paused and looked over his shoulder. 

“I shouldn’t have to point out that this isn’t an escalator.” Castiel nodded and started up the stairs, stopping next to Dean. 

“I’m well aware of that.” Together they tackled a few more steps in silence. By the time they were halfway to the second flight, Dean was already winded. “Dean?” 

“You know, if I had known a year ago that I’d have any kind of problem walking up a couple flights of stairs, I probably would’ve reconsidered the 12th floor digs.” Castiel licked his dry lips and made a split decision, completely unsure of how it’d work out. He moved his bag to his left shoulder and wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist, his fingers lightly curling around Dean’s hip bone. Then, with only a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed Dean’s arm and laid it across his shoulders. Dean froze completely, only becoming malleable where Castiel touched him. The rest of his body was alarmed and rigid. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“This isn’t for your benefit. I’m just really afraid of the dark,” Castiel whispered as he began to ascend the stairs, hoping that his new friend would accept his help. 

*

On any other day with anyone else, Dean would’ve refused to move an inch. But this virtual stranger with the heavy eyes and masterfully crafted lips had the audacity to surprise Dean while his guard was down. Maybe Cas felt sorry for Dean, but he didn’t admit it out loud, somehow knowing he’d get the stubborn man to comply with his nonchalant fib. It worked unbelievably well and Dean didn’t grumble once as they traveled upward. By the 12th floor, Dean was not only relieved that Cas had helped him up the stairs, but convinced that he would’ve collapsed somewhere near the 8th had he attempted them on his own. 

They exited the stairwell and Cas let go of Dean slowly, as if he were making sure he’d stand up on his own. 

“How’re you doing now? The darkness still bothering you?” Dean caught his breath, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he’d broken out into a sweat. 

“It’s better. Thank you,” Cas chewed on his lower lip as if fighting to hold in a smile. 

Dean’s apartment was at the end of the blackened hall, an overgrown potted plant and a worn out welcome mat waiting for them as they got to the door. Again, Dean began to fumble with his keys, mumbling to himself about clumsy fingers and his blurred vision. 

“Keys suck,” Dean growled just before he threw the door open. Inside, the apartment was just the way he’d left it. There was an open book left forgotten on the coffee table, his ass pillow was on the sofa where he’d been sitting, and his cane was hanging from the hall closet door handle, already mocking him and his pain for his decision to leave home without it. “Chuck, you home?” Dean closed the door behind them, but no answer came from inside the apartment. “That means the coward’s still out.” 

He went to the closet, set on finding the candles Jess had made herself, but being home made his body want to give in and relax. He’d struggled the entire walk home and trudging upstairs had been downright miserable, but he needed to push a little more. Hopefully hospitality wouldn’t be as painful as 12 flights of stairs. 

“Anything I can help you with?” Dean glanced over his shoulder while still feeling around blindly. Cas shrugged off his trench coat and suit jacket, glancing around the apartment with curiosity though he remained standing in one spot, the faint light coming from the window being his only aid. Dean froze and stared until Cas met his gaze. “Dean?” 

“I, uh. What?” Dean cleared his throat and snapped his head back toward the closet, hitting his head on the doorframe in the process. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound as he returned to his search for Jess’ honeysuckle candles. 

“I was just wondering if I could help you with anything.” Finally getting with the program, Dean came up with an acceptable answer on the fly. 

“There’s a lighter in the kitchen, in the drawer by the fridge. Also, if you could grab a couple of plates to put these bad boys on, that’d be awesome,” Dean said as he finally found what he was looking for. It was the fragrant scent that finally tipped him off to their location. He wasn’t much for burning candles, but at least they kept the closet smelling nice until now, when they’d be put to good use. Cas returned from the kitchen with the lighter and plates. Together they worked to ignite the wicks and disperse the candles around the apartment, which was now bathed in a warm glow. 

“Good, good. Now my brother can’t pester me anymore for not using them.” Sam hadn’t come out for a visit since Dean was released from the hospital, which was around the same time their mom and dad came out as well. Living in a different state than his family had been a hard thing to adjust to at first, but Sam’s persistent and punctual Skype calls made Dean really savor the distance between him and his younger brother. Sure Sam meant well by the check-up calls, but he nagged Dean more than their mother and Jo combined. Now with Dean having used his girlfriend’s candles, Sam won’t think he has anything against her. Though how could he? Jessica Moore was an angel if he’d ever seen one. 

“You have a very nice home,” Cas murmured, keeping his distance and standing very stiff. Stiff except for the tremble in his lips and hands. 

“I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.” A whole closet full of clothes he hadn’t touched in months. He’d been rotating between the same few shirts and sweatpants since his surgery. He cleaned them, of course, but he hadn’t been able to wear real pants in what seemed like forever. The only reason he wore jeans out today was because he forced Chuck to help him put them on. That was the deal. If Dean was going to brave meeting Chuck’s agent, Chuck would have to help Dean into his pants. A few hours earlier, Dean was convinced he’d received the short end of the stick. Now he wasn’t so sure. 

“But I don’t want to impose—,” 

“Stop with the ‘imposing’ bullshit. You’re not an imposition on me. You’re a guest in my home and it’d be pretty fucking rude of me to let you freeze to death.” That seemed to set Cas straight. Dean excused himself, hobbling toward his bedroom to fetch some dry things for his elevator buddy to wear. 

The sheets on his bed were still ruffled from his restless attempt at sleep the night before. Stopping at his bedside table, he picked up one of the many prescription bottles and popped the cap. He took three without hesitation, knowing he’d been way past due. The relief would come eventually, but there would still be that dull ache of foreign metal in his hip. That’d take longer to get used to. 

*

“I hope you don’t mind wearing an old pair of jeans. Anything warmer at the moment is currently out of commission.” Castiel quickly stepped away from the wall of photos hanging in the dining room. Some of the photographs were hard to make out in the light, but most of them were easy to decipher. Dean had one of those picturesque families. A beautiful mother and a handsome father. A younger brother who looked up to him even though he was a fair bit taller. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time his siblings and mother were in the same room together, let alone them all standing close enough to take a family picture. “But I’ve decided to be generous and let you wear my favorite hoodie. It’s ancient, but sinfully comfortable.” 

Castiel turn around and met Dean in the hallway, accepting the neat stack of clothes with a grateful grin. 

“Thank you.” Dean led him to the bathroom, trying to hold a candle steady. 

“Don’t mention it.” He set the candle carefully on the tank of the toilet and backed out of the room to leave Castiel to it. But before he closed the door behind him, he smirked and said, “Please try not to light anything on fire. It’s kind of embarrassing if a firefighter can’t put out flames in his own home.” Castiel smiled and reassure him that he’d try his best, before Dean left him alone. 

As he stripped out of his clothes, one wet layer at a time, Castiel found himself absently wondering about Dean’s injury. They hadn’t really talked about it, but he assumed it happened while on duty, something bad enough to make stairs seem like the cruelest of torture devices and short jaunts around the apartment like laps around a track. He wondered what it’d be like to have an accident like that, however bad it was. Did it change Dean? Would he have seemed like a different man if he’d met him before? 

The damp clothes lay limp over the shower rod, smelling of rain and the detergent Richard so despised. Dean’s clothes swallowed his body a bit, but not in an uncomfortably oversized way. They felt cozy and well-loved against his skin. He carefully grabbed the candle and walked out. 

“I haven’t caught anything on fire yet,” he announced triumphantly. Dean didn’t respond. Perhaps he didn’t say it loud enough, Castiel thought. He took a few steps toward the living room, expecting to find Dean there, but instead saw a bedroom door ajar out of the corner of his eye. Dean was changing out of his wet clothes, only he seemed to be having some difficulties. 

Dean was facing away from him, his bare back tense as he carefully attempted to pull down his jeans. Even in the dark, Castiel could make out the fading bruises and discolored and scabbed skin. There was a long trail of it that ran down his whole left side. The almost-gone evidence from an accident. Dean turned a bit, still unaware of his guest’s startled eyes on him, as he finally wiggled his jeans down off his hips. The elastic of his underwear slipped down a bit too, revealing more of his hips. It was a sight that would’ve otherwise enliven something in Castiel, but what he noticed next kept him from even considering that feeling. The scar was long with deep puncture marks all along either side where thick stitches had once kept it sealed. The thin divot was shadowed and reached up higher than Castiel first realized. Whatever happened, it’d been enough to require a serious surgery. 

Annoyed, Dean tugged his underwear back up, doing a double take at the sight of Castiel staring at him through the open door. 

“Oh Jesus,” Dean groaned in embarrassment, quickly trying to lunge for the door as his jeans began to slide down around his ankles. “This damn door! It does this all the time. It’s got shit for hinges.” Noticing his struggle, Castiel locked his eyes on the ground and strode forward. Once in the doorway, he leaned in awkwardly and felt around for the handle. When the cold metal brushed his fingertips, he pulled the door shut and let out a shuttering breath. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare,” Castiel quickly apologized. He hoped he wouldn’t have to admit how long he’d been there. 

“It’s alright, Cas. I just need to get the damn thing fixed.” Castiel slowly backed away. He quickly turned, making his way back into the living room. He put the candle down on the cluttered but not messy coffee table and settled into the inviting looking couch. Pleased to find the seat was just as welcoming as it appeared, he pulled his cell phone out from one of Dean’s old, holey pockets. The screen and back case were still fogged from the moisture. There were no missed calls, texts, or emails from Richard, saying whether or not his business trip was going well. But it didn’t matter much; he didn’t need a confirmation email to know that it was. It’d been in the newspapers the past few days, Richard’s dealing with investors, business reporters trying to guess what was taking place behind those closed-door meetings. Castiel didn’t want to hear about the business anyway. A tiny part of him missed the ‘I miss you’ and ‘I can’t wait to see you’ messages he used to receive. That’d been years ago. Now he would’ve just like a message saying when Richard would be home, that way he could properly think about how best to end his engagement. 

“I’m really sorry about that.” Dean came into the room and gingerly took a seat on the other side of the couch, his special pillow beneath him. “I swear, that door only stays closed when I don’t really need it to.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I should be the one apologizing for staring.” 

"Did you see it?" Dean asked, his voice small. "Your scar? Yes, I did." Dean took a minute to process that, but when he did he smirked and sat back, resting an arm along the back of the sofa. 

"Is that all you saw?" Cas gulped and nodded adamantly. When Dean started laughing, he realized he was teasing him and relax a bit, staring across the couch at him. 

*

"Is this weird? Is this weird for us to be hanging out like this?" Dean asked. He was having trouble trying to figure it out on his own. 

"Why would it be weird?" Cas did this thing where he tilted his head at the end of a question. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in a way that looked like he was scrutinizing Dean, but like curiosity had gotten a hold of his lids and used them to express its need for further inquiry. 

"We've only just met--," 

"More has been formed on less," Cas cut him off. It was an excellent point, one he personally knew was true. During his brief college stint, it'd been enough to make eye contact with someone at a crowded party and nod toward a door, hopefully leading to privacy and to some 'hanging out' without the need for pleasantries. 

"It's just that I don't really invite strangers over on a whim anymore." 

"We don't have to be strangers," Cas stated. "I'd very much like to be your friend." 

Friendship had always been an easy boat to sail. Dean never had problems making them or keeping them. He still kept in touch with all of his friends in his hometown. And of course Jo, who was practically his sister. Chuck was his assigned roommate at college and they'd been close ever since, both in bond and proximity. Suffice it to say, Dean didn't mind garnering new platonic relationships. Cas would make a good friend. He seemed well read and mannered. He seemed like the kind of guy you could have a serious conversation with and not get teased for treading into the pinker side of certain issues. 

"I think that can be arranged," Dean laughed. Even though he'd just nestled himself into his preferred corner of the couch, his ass pillow supporting him in all the right places, his stomach bellowed, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since his poor excuse of a breakfast. Of all the mornings he'd decided to forgo his usual toast, bacon, and Lucky Charms spread, it had to be that one. "You hungry?" 

Cas sighed and nodded, looking almost guilty. 

"Me too. I'll go see what I can whip up." That was easier said than done. When he got up, he froze for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside a bit. Cas quickly hopped up, grabbing a candle and heading toward the unlit kitchen. 

"Please. Let me." He was already opening the pantry by the time Dean made to move. He had a good idea of what was in there. It'd only been within the last year that they, Chuck and Dean, had started really cooking for themselves. They started it in an effort to eat healthier, but before long they began trying to recreate their fast food favorites. Sometimes they were successful and other times Dean got to use his fire extinguishing skills inside his own home, but all progress they had made disappeared after Dean's accident. For the most part Dean had to eat cleaner because of his surgery and his medication, but the cookies and industrial sized bags of chips had returned with a vengeance. Chuck was already getting a little softer around the middle. 

Dean double back to grab his ass pillow and made it as far as the bar counter, which looked into the kitchen. Cas looked over his shoulder and nodded to the high backed stool Dean was leaning against. 

"Take a seat. I can do this." He didn’t protest. Once settled, he watched Cas search. At one point he got up on his toes, trying to see if there was anything lurking in the back on the topmost shelf. And when he found that there was, he stretched his lean body and reached. Dean's favorite pair of ratty jeans, which had been faithful and good to him for quite a few years, were loose on Cas' waist. The hoodie was the same way, though it must have bunched up while they were sitting in the living room. As Cas stretched to reach whatever caught his interest in the deepest depths of the pantry, the hoodie continued to rise up his back and his pants continued to slip further off his hips, revealing a strip of back and the elastic of Cas' boxer briefs. Dean struggled to pry his eyes away, but he knew he had to. Friends don't become so quickly aroused by a glimpse of another friend's back. 

Cas came back down, turning around with a sealed bag of dried banana chips in his hand. Dean looked up, recognizing the snack. 

"My mom made those. She's got a thing for dried fruits and jams and stuff. It was the only way she could get me to eat any as a kid." Cas grinned at the anecdote and set them on the counter. He turned back to the pantry for a moment and then back towards Dean, the candle still in his grasp flickering a bit before settling. 

"Peanut butter and honey sandwiches with a hefty helping of Mrs. Winchester's World Famous Banana Chips?" Cas was funny. His humor seemed a bit off center, but it was definitely there. 

"Oh that's sweet. I think I just might steal that one for my next visit." 

"Mothers love hearing that sort of thing," Cas said in a matter-of-fact way, though he'd skirted around talking about his own in the elevator. The candle went to rest next to the World Famous Banana Chips as he retrieved the remaining ingredients. The bear shaped honey bottle was sticky and the newer jar of peanut butter had a very distinct spoon imprint in the center of it, where Dean had shoveled halfway to China in an effort to cure his hunger without having to prepare a more substantial snack. 

Cas hummed quietly as he assembled the sandwiches, pausing once briefly to thoughtlessly lick peanut butter off the side of his finger. It made Dean shift on his stool. Friends don't find other friends licking peanut butter off their skin arousing either. 

"So, Cas, are you seeing anyone?" Dean blurted out. Cas froze, looking up from his sandwich masterpieces. He licked his lips and drew his brows together. 

"Why do you ask?" Dean shrugged and made a face to play it off as an innocent question. 

"I'm just trying to get to know you, I guess. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." 

"No, it's fine." He finished the food by placing the top pieces of bread on the both sandwiches simultaneously, then scooping banana chips onto each plate. Dean leaned forward and grabbed the candle, nodding towards the dining room. 

Dean tried to recall the last time he'd eaten at the table. That's not really what they used it for. Chuck usually used it as a catch-all for his writing. He'd set his laptop there in the morning and by the afternoon he'd have loose pieces of paper crumpled and shredded underneath binders full of previous pieces he'd written and spiral notebooks full of frustrated ink scribbles. Sometimes when he had big deadlines Chuck would even set the printer up on the table, just to save himself the trouble of venturing to his room. But for some reason, the table was absolutely clear now. He silently thanked Chuck, wherever his sorry ass was. 

They settled down across from each other. Cas had filled two glasses with water while Dean burrowed comfortably into his pillow, before taking the first bite. It wasn’t exactly a gourmet meal, but it was nice. He’d have to call his mom and thank her again for the banana chips, which were bewitchingly delicious. 

“I’m with someone,” Cas whispered, halfway through his sandwich. The question had almost been forgotten, but now Dean wasn’t sure if he liked the answer. 

“Oh. That’s nice.” He couldn’t stop himself from sounding deflated. 

"Engaged actually. I'm engaged to be married." Well ain't that a bitch, Dean thought. 

*

Dean seemed shocked at the omission. He wondered if he should've just kept quiet about Richard. He didn't want to lie, but really, Castiel didn't plan on having him in his life for much longer. But then again, why wouldn't he want Dean to know about his longtime fiance? 

"So, when's the wedding?" Dean recovered quickly, chomping down on a particularly thick dried banana slice. 

"Um, well. Never," Castiel said breathlessly. He'd been with Richard since college, but when they fell in love they were two completely different people. Richard, who aspired to be a sculptor when Castiel first met him, had over the years been shaped into something other than an artist by his overbearing father and his business colleagues. Under his father's thumb, Richard became everything he hated, just as Castiel had. They were both victims to their families money and disapproving gazes. They feel in love when they were most themselves and in the recent years had been whittled down to nearly perfect figureheads. As much as his parents disliked it, Castiel would always have rough edges, no matter how hard they pushed him toward Richard. But now was his opportunity to free himself, no matter how in love he used to be with Richard Roman. "I'm breaking it off." 

"What?" Dean asked, sitting up straight. If he were a dog, perhaps his ears would've perked up. 

"I'm not in love with him anymore. And I can't spend the rest of my life pretending that I am." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dean said before eating half of his sandwich in one bite. "How long were you two together?" He asked once he swallowed. Bread crumbs were sprinkled down the front of his shirt. 

"Six years." They'd been engaged for the last four, but they'd both made excuses for pushing the wedding back. The first time the wedding was pushed back was after the funeral and Castiel's first string of depression. The second and third times the wedding was delayed were at Richard's request. As hard as he'd fought it at the beginning his business began to outweigh his obligations to Castiel, until there was nothing that could eclipse his obsession with numbers and spreadsheets and board rooms. Even his love form sculpting dwindled away. Though his interest in his fiancé went first, Castiel had hoped Richard would at least hold on to his love for his stone depictions. He didn't. The fourth time the wedding was delayed, the most recent time, was a mutual decision between the two of them. It was hardly even an issue. It came up one night during dinner, promptly after they'd talked about how their days had gone. After they agreed on it, they finished their food in silence, just as they did with every meal they shared. 

"Wow. Is the poor guy even going to see it coming?" 

"If Richard doesn't see it coming, then he'll need to get his eyes checked," Castiel snorted. 

"Maybe you should break it down for him at an optometrist's office, just to be on the safe side." 

"And to think, I've been letting him drive me around our entire relationship." 

"Sounds like a dangerous fellow. Do you like dangerous fellows?" Dean asked playfully, though by the way he cleared his throat loudly and looked away as he took a large gulp of water, it seemed as though he regretted the question. Castiel didn't know how to answer. His most adventurous relationship had been with Richard. Everyone before him were just half remembered names and faces. Anecdotes he might've used had anyone ever asked him questions about his life before he met Richard. Could he be interested in dangerous fellows? Sure. Though he couldn't recall ever meeting any aside from his older brother Gabriel, who climbed mountains and parachuted out of airplanes. That kind of danger was hard enough to handle when the dangerous one was just his brother. 

"I suppose it'd depend on the fellow." Dean accepted the answer with a nod. They slip into a calm quiet while they finished their meager meals. Castiel picked up the paper plates once they were both clear and got up. Dean did the same, though he didn't follow Castiel to the garbage pail. Dean went to the bookcase in the living room and stretched to grab a safari hat from the top. Castiel watched him curiously as he headed back towards the dining room. Dean pulled a deck of cards out from the inside of a hat and then, with a groan, he bent over and sat the hat on the ground a fair distance away from their seats. It was just on the edge of the candlelight. 

"The darkness will be a bit of a disadvantage unless you're me and you're awesome at this game." He motioned for Castiel to return to his seat as he hobbled toward his own. When they were both seated, Dean unsheathed the deck and sorted the cards by their colors until there was a deck of blacks and reds. "Pick a color any color." Weirdly mesmerized by everything Dean had done so far, it took him a brief moment to register what Dean had said. Castiel tapped the red cards and Dean pushed them towards him, then slid the black deck into his own hands. Without preamble, Dean tossed a card across the room toward the safari hat. Castiel wasn't even surprised when the card made it in. He looked to Dean for approval and when he got a nod, he took a turn, his card falling short by a foot and a half and an embarrassingly large amount to the right. After throwing ten cards each, Dean landing 7 out of 10 cards in the hat while Castiel barely got one to land on the wide brim only for it to slide off, Dean laughed as Castiel let out a disappointed scoff. 

"How'd you get so good at this?" 

"I started doing this in the hospital after I got bored of destroying my friends at poker." Castiel tried it again. The card landed on the brim again and this time it stayed. Both men considered it a minor victory and high-fived. They continued playing until they ran out of cards. It was Castiel who suggested they should keep going. He quickly picked up the cards, chuckling at how far some were from the target. Once gathered, they switched colors and began again. 

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone, Dean?” Castiel heard himself ask. Dean stopped himself from throwing his next card. 

“No, actually. I am very single at the moment.” He tossed the card and it missed by a mile. Cas took his turn. The card landed in the hat and Castiel leapt from his seat, a wild cheer escaping his lips. He turned to Dean, who smiled in amusement. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Castiel sat down heavily, very satisfied. “It does.” 

“Cas, can I ask you something?” Dean turned in his seat so he was no longer facing the hat and the smattering of playing cards scattered around it, but facing Castiel instead. Castiel straightened up a bit, his victorious smile slipping away. 

“Sure,” he muttered. 

“I don’t know if this is going to come off as really sleazy or what, but I can say this much: the old me would’ve been way more insensitive,” Dean paused, his eyes falling to the table. 

“What is it?” Dean looked up and cleared his throat. 

“I don’t know when you plan on leaving your fiancé or how long it’ll take you to get comfortable with dating again, but when the time comes that you do, would you mind going out with me some time?” It didn’t take much detective work to deduce Dean was nervous. He licked his lips more than once and let his eyes fall back onto the table, fidgeting with the deck of cards in his hands. He wasn’t sure why Dean would be nervous. Had he known Castiel would accept in a heartbeat, maybe he wouldn’t be acting so apprehensive. But since he was and it was so endearing, Castiel decided to string him along a bit. 

“What happened to being friends?” Dean smirked. 

“Well, we’ll still be really good friends. Just ones who kiss and have consensual, mind-blowing sex from time to time.” Castiel chuckled, his face turning red. 

“Only from time to time?” 

“We’d have to pace ourselves a bit at the beginning, but given enough time, I think we’d be able to work up to frequently.” 

“Then how could I possibly refuse?” Castiel remembered what sparks felt like. Though it’d been a long time since he’d had them with Richard, they were zapping around him and Dean now. Sparks so powerful that the apartment roared back to life. The stove beeped, the soft whirs of various electronics filled the air. A lamp in the corner of the living room, though ambient and distant, blinded them. They both shielded their eyes until they adjusted. 

“Is that a yes?” Dean smiled shyly. 

“Yes.” 

The rest of the night was tame and better lit. They continued tossing their cards, carrying on a light conversation about their friends and family again. When it came up that both enjoyed playing chess, Dean made Castiel fetch his old set from the hall closet. They were on their fourth game (Castiel: 2, Dean: 1) when they realized how late it’d become. 

“I think I should probably get home,” Castiel said as he put Dean in check. Even though going home to his empty apartment was the most rational decision, it felt like a waste. Why go home when he’d prefer to stay right here? If anything, he could find a neutral space to stay, like his sister’s house. It might put her out to show up at this hour, but it was better than being alone. 

“You can stay here, if you want. I’d offer you my bed, but I’d regret sleeping anywhere else in the morning.” He nodded toward his hip. “But the couch is very comfortable and convenient, if I do say so myself.” 

“Are you sure you’re not sick of me yet?” Dean laughed, moving his king out of check. 

“You haven’t given me any reason to be.” Castiel bit his lower lip as he leaned forward, making his final move. 

“Checkmate.” 

“Okay, now you’re pushing it.” 

Castiel woke up feeling well rested despite only sleeping for a few hours. On his way to the bathroom, he tiptoed past Dean’s open door. The man was lying on his back, with one arm keeping the sun out of his eyes and the other one resting on his chest. Dean’s nose whistled lightly as he breathed. Castiel had to force himself to continue moving or else he’d be stuck there, entranced. 

Putting his own clothes back on, Castiel made the decision to leave before Dean woke up. It was better to get it over with, especially without an awkward goodbye. But he wrote him a note on a blank piece of paper with a dull pencil, leaving his phone number and a sincere reaffirmation that seeing him again was very much something that he wanted. And when he signed the letter, he wrote Cas, because that’s who he wanted to be. Castiel was lost and drowning. Cas was free to be himself. 

Quietly opening the apartment door, he stood face to face with a scruffy looking man, a bagel clenched between his teeth and a set of keys in his hand. The man straightened and took the bagel out of his mouth. This must’ve been the elusive Chuck. 

“Hi,” he said, looking at Cas with suspicion. 

“I was just leaving,” Cas responded dumbly. 

“I can see that.” 

“If Dean asks, I left him a note on the table.” 

“Naturally.” And with that Cas awkwardly bowed and left, red and flustered. 

*

An hour or so later, Dean staggered out of his room to the smell of bacon frying in a pan. When he got to the kitchen, it was Chuck he found and not Cas, as he’d hoped. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Chuck greeted jovially, reading the morning paper as he absently shoved bread into the toaster. “I caught your Romeo sneaking out at the ass crack of dawn this morning, looking all disheveled and guilty. Have a pleasant night, Juliet?” Dean groaned and rubbed his eyes more aggressively than necessary. 

“It’s too early for Shakespeare, okay?” He’d really hoped Cas would stick around, having promised that he’d whip up some breakfast to repay him for making their sandwiches last night. 

“Never too early for Shakespeare,” Chuck corrected, setting a plate down in front of his sleepy best friend, “So, how was he?” 

“We didn’t have sex,” Dean grumbled as he gnawed on a burnt strip of bacon. Chuck lowered his newspaper, giving Dean a puzzled look. 

“Are you sure you didn’t? I read the note he left you and he sounded positively love struck. Didn’t know you were capable of wooing someone so thoroughly without introducing them to Teeny Deany,” he smirked before returning his attention to the daily crossword. Dean sat ramrod straight, not even acknowledging the insult. 

“He left a note?” Chuck nodded, turning around and reaching for a folded piece of paper on the counter without looking. In doing so, Chuck over extended and knocked over his already cold cup of coffee, the dark liquid completely drenching the note Cas had left. Dean rose from his seat, his jaw dropping. 

“Damn!” Chuck grabbed a dish towel and soaked up as much of the coffee as he could, but it was too late. The note was stained dark, the writing completely illegible. 

“Did you really just do that?” Dean growled. 

“I’m sorry, man. It was an accident.” 

“What did the note say?” 

“Mushy stuff about how he couldn’t wait to see you again.” 

“What about his phone number? Did he sign his name?” Dean stormed over to the best of his ability, taking the damp note into his hands. The only word he could make out on the entire page was his own name at the top. The rest appeared to have been washed away. 

“There was a number. And why did you even invite him back here without learning his name?!” Chuck tried to sound upset, but he quickly regretted it when he saw the fire in his friend’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get his last name,” Dean carefully put the letter down. Maybe if it dried, he’d be able to make out the number. Or maybe his last name. Anything to go off of. 

“I’m sorry, Dean.” There was a moment of tense silence before Dean said something that made a chill run down Chuck’s spine. 

“Make peace with your God.” It’d been almost a year since he’d heard him say that. Now he knew exactly how upset Dean was. Chuck quickly backed away from his friend. 

‘Make peace with your God’ was a chant passed down the line of Winchester men. It was like an alarm, letting someone know that all fury was about to be unleashed upon them. Mostly it was a running gag, but Dean meant it more now than he ever had in his entire life. 

“No, Dean! Think about your hip! You don’t want to hurt yourself.” 

“Chuck Shurely, make peace with your God.” 

“Dean! We’re not in college anymore. You go flinging yourself at me and they’ll end up replacing your other hip!” And without warning, Dean lunged at Chuck, knowing that the pain would be worth it, if only for a moment.


	4. The Way Back

It was normal for Dean to be running a little behind on the days Jo picked him up for physical therapy, but this was definitely a first. When she knocked, Chuck answered the door, a bag of frozen strawberries pressed against his right eye. Jo looked at him and then over his shoulder, where Dean was moaning and groaning on the couch, gingerly pressing an ancient tv dinner box to his swollen bottom lip. 

"What the hell happened to you idiots?" Jo stormed in, tossing her gym bag to the ground. Dean and Chuck shared an ashamed look with each other before the scraggly one decided to fess up. 

"I accidentally spilled my coffee on a note some guy left for Dean before he snuck out of the apartment this morning," Chuck sighed as he removed the frozen strawberries from his face long enough for Jo to set her eyes on the shiny, darkening skin around his eye. His nose looked raw, like a fresh rug burn before its scabbing. She inhaled quickly, glaring at Dean. "Don’t worry. He didn't actually hit me. He chased me around a bit and I tripped and hit the back of the sofa pretty hard." 

"Then how'd you get a swollen lip?" Jo asked, turning to Dean with her hands on her hips. 

"I felt bad for the chicken, so I went to help him up and his elbow introduced itself to my mouth." She stepped forward and lowered the box of frozen fish sticks. Definitely swollen and a little bit bloody, but it was easy to tell from the look on her face that she felt they both deserved it. 

"All this because Chuck spilled coffee on a note?" Dean tossed the tv dinner onto the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, suddenly watching the ceiling like it was his favorite show. 

"It had Cas' phone number on it," Dean grumbled. Jo's eyes widened as she took a seat next to her oldest friend. 

"Wait. Are you talking about elevator guy from last night?" 

"Yeah. Cas." Jo slumped mournfully. 

"He was kinda hot." 

"I know," Dean groaned, slapping his face with both his hands in frustration, wincing when the heel of his hand struck his lip. "That's why I'm upset." 

"Did you sleep with him?" 

"No. We just talked and stuff. He seems like a nice guy, but I don't know. He's not my usual type and he’s engaged, but he told me he’s calling off the wedding." Jo gasped, softly punching Dean in the arm. 

"Dean Winchester! Please tell me you didn’t convinced some poor man to call off his wedding!" 

"Now that'd be a trick," Chuck scoffed as he grabbed the tv dinner and took it back to the kitchen, stowing it and his frozen strawberries away. 

"You know I wouldn't do something like that. It was a preexisting condition. But we really hit it off. I asked him, politely, to consider going out with me when he's ready to start dating again and he said yes." Jo relaxed a little. 

“Well, this isn’t the end of the world. What about his last name?” 

“Believe it or not, I didn’t get it. And if I did, I forgot it.” 

“You know he works in the Kripke building, right?” 

“Not any more. He got fired. Yesterday.” 

“Well that’s convenient.” Dean rolled his eyes in frustration, wondering if his life was just playing a grand trick on him. Why else would he get trapped in an elevator with a guy who was everything Dean never knew he wanted, only to have that guy become virtually unreachable? Somewhere, someone was laughing their ass off. 

“What did you say his full name was?” Chuck asked as he reentered the room, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. 

“Castiel.” 

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find a trace of him somewhere. It’s not like his name is Alex or Tom. I’m gonna make an educated guess and say there aren’t many Castiels running around the city.” Chuck made sense. He spoke like he was in a great deal of pain, but there was wisdom in his words. 

“And even if he did get fired, you at least know where he was formerly employed,” Jo added. 

“At least that’s a start,” Dean murmured, brightening slightly. Jo hopped up and helped him to his feet, looking at his swollen lip now with sympathy. 

“A start, yes. But first and foremost: it’s time for physical therapy.” 

*

Cas wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going until he was already half way there and when his destination finally sat in front of him, he shook his head with a guilty grin on his lips. It was just like when he was little. Happy or sad, angry or lost, he always found his way to the one person who knew exactly what to say. So at 8 o’clock in the morning, Castiel rang his sister Anna’s doorbell, hoping that her family wouldn’t be too peeved at his unannounced early morning arrival. 

Expecting his sister to answer the door, Cas was pleasantly surprised when his oldest nephew, Dillon, opened the door. The boy was in the middle of a large yawn; there were empty spaces in his two rows of pearly whites from where he’d been losing baby teeth. His vibrant red hair mimicked his Uncle Castiel’s, choosing to be untamable and free. When Dillon realized who was standing at his door, his yawn ceased, and his gapping mouth turn into an excited smile. 

“Uncle Castiel!” Dillon squealed, launching himself into Castiel’s preparedly open arms. The boy was getting big and it saddened Cas to think that soon a time would come where he’d be too big to hold. For that small reason alone, he squeezed his nephew a little tighter. 

Running footsteps came quickly to the door. Anna pried the door all the way open, clearly shocked to see her younger brother standing on her porch, hugging her oldest son. 

“Castiel, what’re you going here?” She asked. She didn’t sound upset, just startled. It’d been a long time since he’d offered to visit. For the last year and a half, Anna had grown accustomed to calling him and begging for him to make an appearance. The only times he didn’t show reluctance were on his nephew’s birthdays and on Anna and Benny’s wedding anniversaries. It wasn’t that he didn’t love spending time with his family, it was just that those were the only family gatherings that were casual and pressure free. In other words, it meant that his mother and stepfather were not in attendance for any of them. 

“I know my timing sucks, but I really need to talk to you,” Cas muttered quickly, carrying his nephew over the threshold. Anna eyes widened and she nodded without another word. He hoped he didn’t sound too grave. Of course he really needed to get some things off his chest, but he didn’t want her sister to come to the wrong conclusions before he even got a chance to open his mouth. And by the look on her face, that is exactly what had happened. 

“Are you-,” she began, but was stopped when Castiel lifted a hand to silence her derailing train of thought. 

“Everything’s fine. I’m fine. I’m healthy. Everything is truly okay.” Anna let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sinking in relief. 

“Well, you come here before breakfast without at least calling first, saying that we need to talk, of course I’m going to start imagining the worst!” Just then Benny Lafitte came around the corner, wearing a tattered old robe and holding Castiel’s youngest nephew Max on his shoulders. 

“What’s going on?” Benny asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes on his wife and brother-in-law. 

“Nothing. Castiel just about gave me a heart attack, but I’m alright.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up just yet. We still need to talk.” Cas corrected. 

“What? You said everything’s fine!” 

“And it is! For you. Me on the other hand… Let’s just say there are going to be some major changes coming up for me.” Benny and Anna shared a look and with a practiced precision, Benny lifted Max off his shoulders and flipped him forward in his large and fatherly hands until his son’s feet hit the floor directly in front of his own. 

“Okay boys. Let’s go get started on the food while your mother talks with Uncle Castiel.” Cas put Dillon down, which was a much shorter distance than it used to be, and the young boys followed their father into the kitchen. Anna turned quickly to Cas, obviously still completely unconvinced. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He couldn’t help but smile, thinking about how much better he’d felt waking up today than he had the day before. He woke up for the first time in a long time not dreading the day ahead of him. Or the life ahead of him, really. Doors were opening up for him. He wasn’t trapped by the fear of not living up to anyone else’s expectations. And it was a fantastic feeling. 

“I feel a lot better than I have in a long time.” That made Anna grin and sated her motherly worry a bit. 

She ushered him upstairs and into her bedroom for maximum privacy. With two little boys privacy was nearly nonexistent, Anna told Cas before running downstairs to fetch them some much needed coffee. Sitting at the head of their freshly made bed, Cas pulled his phone out and checked. He wondered when Dean would wake up and discover him missing. Would Dean call him? It was a bit presumptuous for Cas to leave his number, but why shouldn’t he? Dean was funny, interesting, and someone he could easily see himself talking to again. Well, he could imagine doing more than talking with Dean, but he tried to push those thoughts to the side. Especially as Anna returned, holding a mug out to him. Just as he was about to take it, she took a step back, her eyes narrowing a bit. 

“Something about you seems different.” He smirked and looked down at his hands in his lap. Lord, he hoped so. 

Anna eventually settled down next to him on top of the soft and comfortable comforter, carefully passing him a cup of fresh coffee. He took in the first bitter sip and instantly felt more awake. 

“So you’re healthy?” 

“Fit as a fiddle,” Cas said with a nod. Anna took a sip and made a satisfied sound deep in her throat. 

“So what’s this about? Not that I’m not glad that you’re here or anything. I’m ecstatic that you’re here. But you obviously have something you want to talk about if you’re here out of the blue.” 

There were a lot of things that needed to be said, but he didn’t want his sister to worry about him. He was an adult and could take care of himself. And he was well on the way to being the best possible version of himself. And without much of a stretch, he caught himself thinking of Dean. His sister glanced over at him and choked on her coffee. 

“What?” He asked, suddenly blushing. She wiped her mouth and chin quickly with the back of her hand, ridding herself of coffee slobber. 

“That was a smile!” A strong silence followed. 

“I’m aware of what a smile is, Anna.” 

“Yeah, but that was the most real smile I’ve seen out of you in years!” She sucked air in quickly, her bright red eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “Did you and Richard finally settle on a wedding date?!” That’s when he knew he couldn’t prolong this anymore. 

“I’m leaving Richard.” The room got so quiet Cas could hear Benny and the boys banging around in the kitchen downstairs. 

Anna’s jaw seemed to come unhinged as she sat there in her silent shock. Of course she hadn’t expected it. As far as anyone knew, Cas’ relationship with Richard was just fine. But that was the façade they had let themselves fall into. If they pretended to be problem free for long enough, perhaps one day they would be. Fake it until they make it. Soon no one had been able to tell the difference, including Cas and Richard themselves. 

“And I left my job.” 

“Oh my goodness,” she whispered breathlessly, resting a hand over her heart. It was then that he gathered up enough confidence and knew he could convince her that this was all for the best. 

“Anna, I’ve been unhappy for too long now. Unhappy and scared that I’d never find it in me to make a change. Yesterday morning, I woke up and I felt brand new, like I was strong enough to do it. So I went into work knowing that I’d leave there without a job. And I did. I couldn’t return to that waste hole of a profession.” 

“And what about Richard?” He knew what his sister thought of Richard Roman. His siblings had adored him, at least the same make and model of him that Cas had fallen in love with. But it wasn’t just Cas who noticed the abrupt shift in his ways. Anna, Benny, and Gabriel all took note of it and found it hard for their opinions not to turn sour, especially knowing how much Cas had needed him at that particular time. That was a time in Cas’ life that was hardly ever brought up, but it’d not soon be forgotten by anyone close to him. 

“I don’t love him anymore.” It felt so wonderful to admit it out loud, not just to himself but to another person as well. “He’s changed. Ever since we lost…,” Cas stopped himself from mentioning the one event that pained him the most in his short life. He was afraid to bring it up, unsure if saying the words would undam the old stream of grief and let it trickle all the way through him. That’s why he startled himself when he continued on. “Ever since we lost the baby, he’s been a different person and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking that it’s my fault, because it’s not.” 

He brought up the one thing none of them had spoken openly about in years. Whether it was respect for the dead or that none of them wanted to lose Castiel again, it was uncertain, but this was the first time he’d thought of it and didn’t feel like he was going to drown. Not only had he thought it, he’d said it and the walls of Anna’s house didn’t begin to wilt and crumble. His lungs didn’t seize and his head didn’t implode. Cas’ heart did ache for a bit, but that was all. It would always ache, but now he was certain he was ready to move on. 

“I promise you I’m going to be okay.” Anna turned away for a moment, looking as if she were trying to process everything he’d just shared with her. Feeling weightless, he collapsed back onto the neatly arranged pillows behind him. Freed by confiding in his first friend, he realized that he was hungry to the point of his stomach snarling at him. Just as the sounds of his hunger became audible, he heard Anna let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Anna?” Cas asked, quickly sitting up. She looked at him, revealing that although she was crying, a smile was also present. Instinctually, Cas wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her close, feeling her morning warmth. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said with a trembling breath. At first he was unconvinced, but the happiness in her voice slowly started to turn him around. “This is the first time you’ve sounded like you in a long time!” She broke down fully, tightening her grip around his neck. When she next spoke, it was so faint he almost missed what she said. “I was so afraid we had lost you.” 

Breathing became difficult for a moment. Had his depression been that bad? So bad that he’d become another person entirely? Sure, he knew he didn’t feel like his old self, but to have changed into someone, or something, completely new without him realizing it? How terrifying. 

“I’m sorry it took so long to find my way back,” he cried. They held each other and wept. The last time they had broken down like this in each other’s arms was when they were young and their father had just passed away. 

It wasn’t apparent how long they sat there until little Max came into the room, proudly announcing that breakfast was ready. They quickly pulled away and wiped their tears. Holding hands for support, they rose off the bed together. Just before they followed Max out of the room, Anna turned to Cas, a question in her eyes. 

“So, why were you grinning like a fool earlier?” 

*

Grumpy and unfocused, Dean started his physical therapy half-heartedly. Across the room, Jo was pushing herself just enough. Her eyes were glazed over with a strong determination, which on a different day would probably spark something inside of Dean. Today however, it did not. Too caught up in his own frustrations, he couldn’t appreciate all her hard work and the fast progress she’d been making. She only had a few more sessions left and then she’d be back on call. Dean, as of that moment, would be off the squad indefinitely. 

“Winchester, you need to get your head outta your ass!” Michael, his physical therapist, said, being more aggressive than usual. Mostly he was soft spoken and reassuring, but today every move that Dean made just wasn’t good enough. Dean tried most days, tried until he could hardly move, but today all he could think about was a pair of intense blue eyes and a promising phone number that got washed away with a splash of coffee. 

Grunting as he attempted to do another full leg press, Dean rolled his eyes at Michael and unconsciously utter a phrased that would’ve got his ass grounded in his younger years, 

“I can’t.” 

Clearly, that was the worst possible thing he could’ve said. 

“Alright, that’s enough! Take five and then meet me in my office, Dean,” Michael yelled. He stormed out of the gym, leaving everyone stunned and silent in his wake. Dean met Jo’s eyes briefly, but she didn’t look nearly as shocked as everyone else. 

“You tattled on me, didn’t you?” He vaguely remembered their exchange when the elevator finally opened. Dean wouldn’t put it past her. Plus, the guilty frown on her face only helped to convince him more. 

“Super,” he muttered to himself as he carefully got up from the leg press machine. And without bothering to take his break, Dean headed toward Michael’s office, getting smacked with déjà vu from his delinquent days in high school. If Michael called home, then it’d be virtually the same. 

Dean entered without knocking and sat across from Michael, who was seated behind his desk. For a man who preached about zen and emotional balance, it was blatantly obvious he was angry. If steam could roll out of his ears and nostrils, it would. 

“What’s going on with you lately, Dean? When you started physical therapy you were progressing leaps and bounds more than the norm. Now you’re not. You’re backpedalling.” 

“I’ve had a lot on my mind today.” 

“I’m not just talking about today. I’m talking about you tromping around without your cane and kneading at muscles that are trying to repair themselves like they’re a mound of pizza dough.” 

“So Jo told you about that?” 

“Yes. Rightfully so. I was under the impression that you were taking your recovery seriously, but now I know better.” Dean could feel things bubbling up inside him. Anger? Embarrassment? It was hard to pin down and identify. “Then today, you come in here and you tell me you can’t. I’m pissed, Dean.” 

“Well, I’ve got a lot on my plate,” Dean griped. The last thing he wanted to do was make excuses, but considering all that he’d been through, he thought he deserved a little leniency. 

“I’m not saying you don’t, but I honestly expected more from you. I don’t think you realize that you’ve worked harder than every patient I’ve ever had. When you came to me, you were guns blazing because all you wanted to do was get back to saving lives. Despite all that could’ve happened and all the complications that might arise, you pushed yourself. And I thought you’d make it, get back to doing what you do best, but now I feel like I need to remind you of what I said at the very beginning: if you’re not diligent and take this seriously, you might never return to firefighting.” 

The reality of it hurt, like inhaling smoke and feeling it burn up everything inside him. They’d told him how lucky he was to have survived. Had he been standing just a couple inches to the left, he could’ve been paralyzed. Just a few more and he’d have been buried completely under the fallen ceiling. Blessed, they all said, but he didn’t bother with the semantics of it. Instead he zeroed in on the promise that maybe one day, he’d be able to walk normally again. And if that day came, then maybe the day where he was able to return to his regular life wouldn’t be too far behind. But now that was being threatened again. Not by Michael or anyone else, but by his own actions. He’d been sabotaging himself. 

“Dean, I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through and I hope that I never have to, because I’m not as strong as you are. I would’ve folded already, resigning myself to a life without mobility. But I know you’re not going to give up. This may just be a lull, but I’ve seen that fire in you and it burns so bright that it’d be an injustice to put it out.” Dean looked up from where his eyes had fallen, smiling ever so slightly. 

“Putting fires out is kinda my job.” 

“This fire though is best kept contained.” Michael opened a desk drawer and pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pen. He sat them down in front of Dean. “To help you find your way back on track, I want you to make a list of goals you want to accomplish in the near future. It can be anything. Put physical goals into one column and emotional goals into another. Make a timeline. Make a flowchart. I don’t care. Just make realistic, tangible goals and bring the list in on Tuesday. Think you can do that?” 

“Yes sir,” Dean whispered, picking up the pad and looking at the blank page with its intimidating blue lines. He didn’t have any goals besides getting back on the squad and a part of him suspected that Michael knew that. 

“It might take you a while to figure it out, but you’ll come up with something. The list could stay the same all throughout the rest of you physical therapy or it might grow and evolve. You might gain goals you never knew you wanted to accomplish. Who knows.” 

“Have you tried this technique out on other patients?” Michael smiled. 

“No. The reason I’m trying it on you is because I know you’re capable of figuring out what you want and making the effort to succeed.” Again Dean’s mind returned to a pair of intense blue eyes and a promising phone number that got washed away with a splash of coffee. 

*

Breakfast was delicious, but Cas wasn’t surprised. Everything Benny touched turned into culinary gold. Afterwards, the boys got dressed and went out to the backyard to enjoy their first Friday of summer, while adults around the table sipped coffee and discussed Cas’ encounter in the broken elevator. 

“So, you gave him your number, right?” Anna asked, clearly in a happier mood. Cas smiled and nodded, looking down into his mug as he drank from it. They’d grilled him about Dean in every way imaginable, trying to get as much information about him as possible. For that Cas was grateful. It was better than them dwelling on the things he was in the process of severing from his life. “Has he texted you yet?” 

“Now we don’t want you to end up as a booty call, so you gotta play it right.” Benny added, rubbing his hand up and down Anna’s back. 

“He’s not going to be a booty call. This guy sounds very nice.” 

“Yes, well you seemed very nice too, but I ended up being your booty call for a whole year before you agreed to go out with me.” 

“And look at where we are now.” Anna looked at her husband and smirked. Castiel always thought they were a good, though odd, match. A strong-willed and a southern gentleman. 

“I’m your booty call with a mortgage.” As they kissed, Cas pulled out his phone, curious to check it again. He’d missed a text, but it wasn’t from Dean. It was from Richard. 

_I’ll be home Sunday morning. We have an event we must go to Sunday night. Dress to impress._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys it wouldn’t be six months before I posted again. Sure, it was two months this time, but hey. Progress. Things are even weirder here at home and now I’m working full time, but I promise I’ll try and post sooner than once every two months. Enjoy! (Still unbeta’d. Sorry.)


	5. Getaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot has happened. I won't go into details. This has been a very rough year for me, but I am determined to finish this story. And here, without further ado, is Chapter 5, which turned out a lot differently than I'd planned. There is a bit of violence/abuse in this chapter, so I will change that in my tags, but it won't get any worse that what's in this chapter. (Or at least I don't think it will.) So please, feel free to leave me feedback. Again, it's still just me editing this story, so there are many mistakes, I'm sure. And, I have also started a new Destiel Mpreg fic on this site called _Muddy Waters, Until Now._ Check it out if you wish.

On Sunday in the late afternoon, a church bell tolled across the street from Castiel’s apartment, striking up a heavy doom that settled into his bones and weighed him down. No matter what he tried, he’d been in a helpless mood all day. And on top of that, he’d become a slave to his phone. Every time it chirped, he eagerly snatched it up, only to find that it was nothing more than a text for Anna, who waited, too, for news from Dean. Nothing came and that heaviness was almost worse than knowing Richard Roman would soon come walking through the door.  


Castiel, anticipating their need to get ready, picked out one of his favorite suits and started dressing. In his navy blue trousers with a white shirt completely unbuttoned was how he looked when he heard keys rattle in the door to the apartment. Holding his breath and closing his eyes tightly, he tried to collect himself, taking in a shuttering breath. Richard was not necessarily a bad man, he was just no longer the man he had once fallen in love with. He was no longer in love with Richard. Richard was probably no longer in love with him. He repeated this over and over again, as though he would be tested on memorization.  


“It’s as simple as that,” Castiel whispered out loud to himself as the door finally opened.  


“I’m here,” Richard announced, his voice low and flat. It had been a long time since he’d made the exclamation, ‘I’m home.’  


“How was the trip?” Castiel asked, feigning interested as he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror at himself.  


“Business, as usual. All the same crusty old men arguing about where their same steady stream of money is going to be invested. Nothing that would interest you.” Cas had grown to hate that phrase. Richard used it often and as a blatant insult of someone’s intelligence.  


Richard walked into the bedroom and paused, setting his briefcase and travel bag down. Even now after all these years, he was still incredibly handsome, but Castiel remembered when he truly shinned, before his face was creased with hard stress lines and before his temples had begun to gray. That was back when his body was languid and his muscles stayed loosed. Now every move he made was calculated and rigid, like those of a lifeless robot.  


Richard looked Cas up and down, his eyes not lingering upon his exposed chest, like they used to. Instead he looked at the trousers Cas had chosen and then peered around him over to the made bed where the matching suit jacket lay.  


“Why do you insist on wearing these ill-fitted suits when I’ve had nicer suits tailored for you?” He moaned, rubbing his forehead in a quick and frustrated motion. How could he forget all the grueling hours he’d spent being measured and grouped by old wrinkly fingers clad in gold rings? Or the humid whispers in his ears, reminding him that he’s nothing more than a ‘pretty hen?’ His hands balled in frustration.  


“Because they’re the suits I’ve bought with my own money. They’re important to me.”  


“Ha. Speaking of earning money,” Richard said, angrily loosening his tie, “your father called and told me about Fuller firing you due to, and I quote, ‘you having an abysmal work ethic and a consistently poor attitude.’ Everything you do now, good or bad, reflects on me, did you know that? Not to mention, if I hadn’t found this out from your father, would you have told me at all?”  


“Well, you obviously don’t like to talk about your work with me, so why should I tell you about mine?” Their eyes were daggers, sharp and unforgiving. They stood and stared at each other for too long, before Richard stormed towards the bathroom.  


“The gala starts in two hours. We’re leaving in forty five minutes.”  


“And what if I told you I wasn’t going?” Richard froze, mid-step. His entire back tensed, but he didn’t turn around to look at his opponent.  


“You’re going, Castiel, and that’s final.” The ice in his tone was blistering, chapping Cas’ skin and filling his body with an unnatural chill. He’d never heard Richard use that tone of voice before. It was threatening and dangerous, almost daring Castiel to test him.  


“We’re both miserable,” Castiel muttered, his eyes falling to the floor. This made Richard Roman turn around, his chest expanding and broadening. Keeping his ground, Castiel pulled his shoulders back too, though he didn’t appear much bigger in comparison. “Don’t you dare pretend you’re not. We can’t stand being in the same room as each other, let alone stay in that room long enough to pretend to like each other. So, please, let’s just stop.”  


“Why are you saying this right now?” Richard spread his arms wide, the motion a vicious plea and for what, Cas wasn’t sure, but more than one part of him was scared.  


“Because I can’t do this anymore, Dick! I can’t be here anymore. I can’t live this life anymore and pretend that it’s enough.”  


“What do you want, then? Do you want out? Or are you still cloying for sympathy?”  


“Still? Are you referring to—“  


“Yes, I am.” Cas deflated completely. Cloying for sympathy over their dead child? Nothing as hurtful as that had ever been said to him. That’s where everything started to sour. It was bad enough to lose a baby so close to the end of its term, but to then have the rest of his life fall in around him, it had been too much.  


“What gives you the right to say that to me?” Castiel’s face and voice darkened.  


“I have every right. You’re not the only one who lost a child!” Cas growled, stepping forward.  


“I lost everything! I lost the baby! I lost myself and you didn’t even care. I lost you.” To that, Richard said nothing. His nostrils stayed flared and his lips became a white, angry line. “I could’ve disappeared and you would’ve gone on with your life just fine.”  


“That’s a lie, Castiel,” Richard finally spoke up, his voice trembling with fury. Cas lost every bit of control he had left in his body and lunged forward, pounding his closed fists rapidly against Richard’s broad chest.  


“Stop pretending like you give half a shit about me! Enough!” After a blur of motion and a shock of white hot pain, Castiel was on the ground, holding the wrist that Richard had twisted a little too far. Cas hadn’t heard a snap of bone, but there were tears streaming down his face. Richard stood over him, his lips still thin and nearly translucent.  


“We’re going to the gala. You’ll leave early and come back here. Then you’ll take your things and you’ll leave.”  


“Why make me go to the fucking gala in the first place?” Castiel sobbed, holding his injured wrist tightly to his chest. Richard leaned down, his face only a few inches away from Castiel’s.  


“It’s all about appearance,” Richard responded, smoothing back the few strands of dark hair that had fallen out of place. “And if you don’t come, it’ll make me look very, very bad.”

*

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Dean muttered as he slowly lowered himself into the black town car Becky had rented for them. Already he was uncomfortable. His tuxedo was too loose, the fabric weighing him down, his hip already starting to fuss, and then of course it was projected to start raining again.  


“You’re the reason why I’ve had all this success. Is it so wrong that I want to treat you to a nice night to say thanks for letting me exploit your heroism for fame and fortune?”  


“I would’ve preferred a card,” Dean responded sourly. Chuck tried to straighten his bowtie in the reflection of his window, but only made it more crooked in the process. Dean picked at a piece of warn rubber that was coming of the handle to his cane. Chuck turned and rolled his eyes.  


“You’re not still hung up about that guy, are you?”  


Of course he was. It was Chuck’s fault that the number had been obliterated and as hopeful as Dean had been when starting his internet search for Castiel, he found that the dark haired man was more elusive than Bobby Fisher. Even with a strange first name, there was no Facebook page, not Linkedin link, or Twitter feed to be found.  


“It’s like he never existed.”  


Chuck sighed and rested a hand on his friend’s knee. Chuck was so many things, but when it really came down to it, he was truthful and loyal to a fault. The rest of him was often questionable.  


“We’ll find him, Dean. If he’s as great of a guy as you say he is, then after tonight I’m making it my personal mission to find him,” Chuck said with a reassuring smile. Dean nodded, just hoping Chuck wouldn’t post Castiel’s name and description on his now internationally famous blog with the headline, “Our Hero is Looking for a Missed Connection.”

*

Bulbs were flashing when they stepped out of the car. Castiel tried not to flinch when Richard made a show of helping him out of the back seat. Careful not to move his wrist too much, he gave Richard the uninjured hand.  


“Richard, we have sources claiming that there might be a political campaign announcement from you in the near future. Is there any truth to that?” One reporter squawked.  


“Mr. Roman! What’s the status on the Rallington merger? Will jobs still be outsourced as suggested by the leaked drafts from your legal department?”  
Castiel walked beside him as he simply waved at reporters, not answering any of their questions. When his hand came to rest on the small of Castiel’s back, he shivered, feeling physically ill. Not once had Richard ever abused him, in any way. And he never would again.  


Once inside the hotel’s vast and otherwise enchanting banquet hall, Castiel turned to Richard, not making eye contact.  


“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment. I’m not feeling so well.” Already Richard was surrounded by people who thought very highly of themselves. Announcing his departure loud enough for the small assembled crowd to hear was safer than just walking away. Richard smiled widely and almost genuinely. There was even a touch of concern in his hollowed eyes.  


“I’m sorry you’re feeling unwell, dear. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” Cas nodded, trying to remain composed. The group nodded sympathetically, but slowly closed in around that space that Cas had left, making Richard Roman the focal point.  


Slowly Cas wandered through the marbled room, weaving through people he might’ve recognized from the news, if he had cared to pay any attention to it. People didn’t notice him really and he preferred it, especially when he was focused on getting as far away from Richard as possible.  


Finally reaching the other end of the hall, away from the reporters and the toasting, Castiel rest behind a large white pillar, taking a moment to catch his breath. And after a few steady counts of regular breathing, he began to sob, not realizing that someone had followed him all the way to his secluded hideaway.  


“Cas?”  


*

  


_It was him._ Dean would’ve started laughing, if Cas hadn’t lifted his head and chocked back a sob.  


“Dean? What are you doing here?” the man gasped, holding his arms out to him. Without hesitation, Dean pulled him into his arms and held him close, Cas’ entire body trembling.  


“I'm playing dress-up. What’s wrong?” He dared to ask. Holding Cas close like this was thrilling, his heart thundering. _I found him._  


“I have to leave. I have to get out of here.” Well, that wasn’t the worse news Dean had heard all day.  


“Okay, um, just let me talk to my friend. We have a car that can take you anywhere you want to go.”  


"I want to go home,” Cas exclaimed, trying to compose himself. The groups of people closest to them were starting to take notice. Dean nodded and steadied a hand on Cas’ shoulder.  


“Okay, I can get you there.”  


“I getting my things. I’m leaving Richard, Dean. He hurt me.”  


“Are you alright?” Dean asked in alarm. Castiel held his wrist out to him. It was bruised blue and purple from his wrist halfway to his elbow, but it didn’t appear broken. But that didn’t make much of a difference. Dean’s vision started going red, his teeth grating together. “Is he here right now?”  


Cas grabbed onto the lapels of Dean’s tux, a plea in his eyes.  


“I don’t want to cause a scene. I just never want to see him again. Please, Dean.”  


“He hurt you and you want him to get away with it?” Dean's voice was louder than was decent. Half of the large banquet hall quieted, trying to find the echoing yelling coming from somewhere among them.  


“No, I don’t. Right now I just want to get away with you.”  


Dean’s eyes widened, but he nodded his understanding. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed the number he’d called last, deciding not to waste time trying to pull Chuck away from the free bar. After two rings, Jo answered with her traditional mumbled greeting.  


“Jo, I need a favor,” he said quickly.  


“I’m not lifting your fat ass out of the tub again. I swear, you’re such a baby sometimes. You’re injured, not paralyzed.”  


“Jo, shut up! I need you to pick me up from this stupid gala. It’s an emergency.”  


“You promised you wouldn’t bail on Chuck. He's gonna give you so much grief.”  


“I’m with Castiel, here at the gala. He’s leaving his fiancé and needs our help. Please.” She stayed silent for a moment, processing what he’d told her. Finally she coughed, the sound of her shuffling around on the other side of the line growing increasingly apparent.  


“I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” Dean hung up the phone and Cas fell into his arms again, where he was safe.


	6. Road to Okay

The car ride was mostly silent, except for Cas occasionally looking up and giving mumbled direction’s to Jo. When his eyes fell back down, they landed on his wrist, lying limp in his lap.  


“You know, we’ll go to someone about this. Domestic abuse is very serious,” Dean tried. He wasn’t sure if this had happened to Cas before or if this was the first time, but he still wanted to squeeze out every drop of justice that Cas deserved. The dark haired man shook his head.  


“I don’t want to think about that right now,” his voice breaking from the raised volume. Dean’s jaw throbbed from clenching it too tight. In his pocket he could feel his phone vibrating over and over again, most likely Chuck trying to track him down. That confrontation would have to wait.  


Jo turned on the radio, the station already at a low volume. She turned it even lower, the quiet music ripping through the tension like a ribbon of smoke coiling through a humid day. Cas sat back and relaxed his neck before slowly lowering his head onto Dean’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. Dean looked up, catching Jo’s eyes in the rearview mirror. _Not once, in our entire lives, did Jo not come through for me,_ Dean thought fondly. She smiled lightly, knowing there wasn’t much she could do to help, but calming them down was something within her power. Dean leaned in toward Cas, his cheek landing on his soft black hair.  


The building they parked in front of was a sleek spectacle of a skyscraper. It looked more like an office building than it did luxury condos. Jo turned around and asked Cas to confirm if this was the right place. He lifted his head and nodded with a sigh.  


“This is one thing I won’t miss about Richard: his taste. I hated how uncomfortable I was in my own home.” Dean’s heart panged, still hoping that this was the only time Cas had been physically hurt by this man.  


All three of them got out of the vehicle and went inside. The elevator up was a sleek ride, very different from the jerking motions the elevator in Dean’s building was world famous for. With Jo standing off to the side, she didn’t really notice as Dean and Cas slowly shifted together, their hands intertwining between them. There was something about elevators that drew them closer.

*

The apartment seemed less frightening than Cas had imagine on their way there. As the front door swung open, lava didn’t shoot up from the cracks in the cement floor and no demons began screeching the songs of Hell as they flew toward him. It was just the same old boring place he’d put up with for too long.  


“Holy crap,” Jo said under her breath as she peeked past Dean and Cas to look inside. “Is this an apartment or a law office?”  


“Funny enough, I always imagined it as a holding cell,” Cas said, stepping through the threshold and leading them towards the bedroom, Jo closing the front door behind them.  


Along one wall there was a series of black and white photographs that immediately drew Dean over to them and the one in the center showed a young, college aged Cas and Richard, smiling brightly and wholeheartedly at the camera. Dean gasped in recognition as he took a better look. That face had been all over the news for weeks.  


“Wait. Your _dick_ of a fiancé is Dick Roman? Of Roman Industries?”  


“Ex-fiancé,” Cas corrected. He’d been thinking about what he’d take and saddened when he realized that he could pack up all of his belongings in one or two boxes and be done. Most of ‘his’ clothes in the closet were tailored to his frame or bought for him with the intention of making him look the way other people wanted him to, but nothing felt comfortable. The art wasn’t his, the books weren’t his. Most everything he owned was in an old graying trunk under his side of the bed. Wordlessly, he went to it, tugging it out into the open.  


“Alright, what can we do to help?” Jo asked, rubbing her hands together. Cas had already made his way to the closet, where he collected the last few things he wanted in an old backpack that was under the bed as well.  


“I think that’s it, actually,” Cas said, beginning to stuff the bag with his most bearable clothes.  


“Are you sure you don’t want to nick some nice watches or a few vases?” Dean asked, shocked, taking another look around as though they might miss something labelled ‘Cas.’  


“Honest. This is all that I want to take with me,” he whispered. It was fitting, though, that he was able to collect his things in a matter of minutes. The easier the getaway, the better. Dean, who was leaning a majority of his weight against the bedroom door handle shifted, sighing as he pulled his phone out.

 

*

“What do you want, Chuck?”  


“Where the hell did you run off too, man? Literally everyone here wants to shake your hand.” Music, laughter, and the light clinking of drink glasses filled the background on Chuck’s end. Though he’d only met her once, Becky Rosen’s laughter was there as well. She must’ve been perching on Chuck’s shoulder like a bird, occasionally whispering scripted lines into his ear.  


“Well, I’m glad I bailed. I don’t know if any of you have washed your hands between all the ass grabbing you’re probably doing.”  


“Seriously, Dean? Look, I don’t care that you ran off and left me here alone. I was just checking to see if you were okay. No need to be a dick.”  


“Well, you can take my word: at least I’m not the biggest dick of the night.” Cas peeked out of the closet and caught his eyes, smiling with the smallest corner of his mouth. Jo snorted, pantomiming a vulgar up and down motion with her hand. “It’s a long story. I’ll call you later. Don’t drink too hard. You’re not 15 anymore.”  


“It’s too late. I’ve already got tequila burps. I do hope that everything’s okay, though.” Dean nodded to himself. Despite spending the last hour with Cas, Dean still couldn’t believe that he’d found him. When it came to acknowledging any sort of positive feeling toward another human being, whether friendship or love, Dean was a self-described “skittish and emotionally constipated grump.” Hadn’t this been different from the very beginning? Instead of trying to guess or put words to how Dean felt about Castiel, he already knew. There was gravity to it. And he wasn’t scared.  


“We’re on the road to okay.”

*

It took two trips to pack Jo’s car, which was reasonable since two of the three movers had weight lifting restrictions. Jo’s trunk showed just how prepared she was for almost any emergency and luckily, with a bit of Trunk Tetris, they were able to fit all of Cas’ things in there without having to take anything out.  


“Oh! I almost forgot something,” Jo jumped, pulling something out of one of her bags. It was a navy blue arm sling, probably left over from when her shoulder injury was still fresh. Cas grinned, relieved that he wouldn’t have to hold his throbbing wrist up anymore.  


“Start the car,” Dean said, taking the sling from Jo. She left without a fight, her eyebrows cocked. Carefully, Dean set his cane against the car’s bumper. Cas had noticed that Dean had been putting a lot of his weight on it tonight. Now, with a quick side step, Dean himself leaned against the car next to his cane. His forehead was slick.  


“Are you okay?” Dean nodded too quickly.  


“Come here,” Dean whispered. Cas stepped forward, still worried, but carefully held out his wrist when Dean opened up the sling. They nestled his arm carefully between the padded flaps. “Turn around.” Slowly, Cas rotated, not realizing that Dean had pushed himself away from the car and was standing close behind him, fastening and adjusting the straps. It could have been a quick passing breeze, but for a moment Cas felt air on the back of his neck and he had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from moaning.  


“It’s not too tight, is it?” Dean asked, perhaps hearing Cas’ quick inhale.  


“Nope. It feels fine.” Cas didn’t remember turning around, but he was suddenly transfixed. Moonlight, starlight, and streetlight aglow, bathing Dean in pale white. So handsome, and generous. Kinder to him, as a stranger, than even the most familiar in his world. He’d never been very religious, but the word ‘angelic’ kept rolling around in his brain.  


“Can I ask you something?” Dean said, grabbing his cane. This time, Cas didn’t notice how white Dean’s knuckles went with it in his grip.  


“Anything,” Cas returned, taking a step closer.  


“Would it be the worst thing if I kissed you right now?” Without answering, Cas brought his free hand up to Dean’s face, cupping his smooth cheek. For a moment they watched each other, eyes dancing across each other’s noses and eyelashes and chins and lips, before they both leaned in.  


Jo, watching this scene from the rearview mirror, squealed for three wondrous seconds before regaining composure and texting Chuck her intel.

*

Dean straightened his tie with slightly shaking hands as they pulled up outside of a pleasant suburban home. Over the moon with where things were heading with Cas, of course he’d expected to meet his family down the line, but only half an hour after their first kiss wasn’t exactly what Dean had in mind.  


A few minutes before arriving, Cas called his sister, giving her the abridged version of all that transpired, but none of them expected a welcoming committee in the front lawn. Anna, who had long red hair, held a boy that looked so much like her he might have been a clone. Next to them was Anna’s broad shouldered husband, an older boy clinging to his back.  


“Uncle Castiel,” the young boys said in a tired unison, each put down by their respective parents as they all exited the car.  


“Careful boys,” Anna said, holding them back from bull rushing him. As she approached, the wet paths on her face were caught by the car’s taillights. “Hey, sweetie,” she said as she wrapped her arms carefully around his neck, his nephews wrapping themselves around his legs with somewhat less concern. Jo and Dean stood back near the open trunk.  


“Can I give y’all a hand with anything?” the husband asked, walking around the human cluster. “Benny, by the way,” he said, offering a large hand.  


“Jo,” she said with a friendly grin.  


“Dean.” Benny froze mid shake, then returned to it after a moment of complete stillness.  


“Well, I can’t say I’m upset to see you hear, Dean,” Benny winked before pulling some things from the trunk. _What the hell is that supposed to mean,_ Dean thought, wondering if Cas had already mentioned him to his siblings. Hopefully no one would notice him blushing.  


There wasn’t much he could do to help, so Jo and Benny unloaded the trunk, taking everything into the house. As helpless as it made him feel, he was already sweating from all the effort it took to keep himself upright. He’d been pushing it down, but he’d gone too long without taking his pain meds. The assumption that he would be drinking his pain away tonight had lured him into a false sense of security. Now he had no shield against the onslaught of discomfort that could have been avoided.  


“Come in, come in,” Anna said, finally pulling herself and her boys away from Cas. “We have leftovers from dinner and I can get some coffee going.”  


“Actually, I think Jo and I are going to head on home,” Dean said after clearing his throat. Cas looked disappointed, but this seemed to be for the best. Cas needed space, time to process everything that happened. Now wasn’t the time to be rushing… anything. Cas was living in a strange new world and he needed time to decide whether or not he wanted Dean to be a part of it. He didn’t know how Cas’ head wasn’t physically spinning, really.  


“Are you sure?” Cas asked again, leaving his family on the sidewalk. Anna narrowed her eyes at Dean, as if she was trying to recognize him, but put it off when both the boys began tugging her toward the door.  


“You need some rest. And I don’t want to get in the way of your sister fawning over you.”  


“That would be rude,” Cas said, leaning in closer and laughing in a way that could have lit up the whole neighborhood. “But, can I see you again? Sometime soon?” Dean felt his face heat up. His face and other things.  


“You just name the time and place, Castiel…?”  


“Novak. Castiel Novak.” Cas outstretched his hand, though the distance between them was too short for a proper, polite greeting hand shake.  


“Dean Winchester,” he said, pushing the hand out from between them and then grabbing the back of Cas’ neck, bringing their lips together.  


At the door, three spectators stood looking on in awe.  


“This will be interesting,” Jo said under her breath with a wry smile. Her voice was magnified in the quiet night air, making it loud enough to reach Anna and Benny, who stood a few feet behind her. The two nodded in agreement, their arms thoughtlessly looping around each other, and together they wished this would change their beloved Castiel’s life in all the best ways.  


Dean pulled away for a moment, a terrifying thought suddenly coming to mind.  


“Please don’t let me leave without you giving me your number again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, so don't be a hatah. (Please forgive me for that.) Let me know what you think, good or bad, and I hope all of you are having wonderful lives.


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